


The Back of the Bar

by Pigzxo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 07:23:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5239688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pigzxo/pseuds/Pigzxo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The university rowing team has a very odd way of celebrating victories and Dean and Cas sometimes take it too far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Back of the Bar

The bar was louder than usual. Rare was it that the rowing team actually won a game on a Friday night, when the evening crowd was in full swing, and they had to shove through crowds of people to find a table. The table they did find was a small one, meant for no more than four people, maybe seven if they squished, but all twenty-four of them pulled up battered bar stools and sat around it. No room to move their arms or touch the table. Reaching for the pitchers of beer was like entering the mosh pit at a particularly unfriendly rock concert and pouring beer was harder than going down a water slide without getting wet.

            Oddly, Dean didn’t care. Yeah, crowded bars were a pet peeve of his, and the noise was unbearable, but Cas sat right beside him. Dean had caught his eye just outside of the bar, saw his smile fade into something a little more feral, and was now waiting for him to make the first move.

            Cas wasn’t quick about it like the other guys. The team had this... tradition. After they won a game, to let off a little steam, they gave each other handjobs in the bar. No one really talked about it. It could happen anywhere: at the table, in the corner, in the bathroom, sitting at the bar... anywhere you could get away with it was fair game. Most of the guys took it just as that: fair game. They asked a question (the official code was “you wanna take a smoke?”) and you walked off with them. The whole thing took a few minutes, quick and dirty, and then it was done, never to be spoken of again. Not that Dean minded the whole no talking thing. He didn’t even real mind the quickness, because it gave him less time to think about what he was doing, what he was feeling. But being with Cas was always better. Because Cas was a goddamn tease.

            He had started already. His hand rested against Dean’s knee, his fingers pressing into his skin harder than was absolutely necessary. Every once in a while his thumb would slip up the outside of his thigh an inch or two, only to slide back down a second later. The hem of Dean’s jeans burned into his skin with every movement, but he hadn’t taken a theatre class for nothing and it was easy to pretend it didn’t bother him. He laughed at Ricky’s joke about the bartender, booed when the Chargers got a touchdown, and finished his beer without spilling a drop.

            “Oh, would you look at her ass,” Marco said.

            Dean turned with the rest of the guys at the table. Over his left shoulder, he saw a blonde girl wearing a Chiefs’ jersey as a dress, knocking back a Canadian beer. And, yeah, her ass was phenomenal. A true thing of beauty. The curve of the bottom of her butt, perfectly round, was just visible under the hem of the jersey. Tied so that it was tight, the jersey showed off the curve of her ass as she bent over the bar to ask for another beer or steal one from the tap. A girl with a trick or two up her sleeve wasn’t something to scoff at.

            But his attention slipped quickly when Cas’ hand shot down his leg. The distraction gave him the opportunity to tickle his fingers up the inside of Dean’s thigh and cup his crotch. Dean bit his bottom lip hard, tasted blood, to stop himself from gasping at the feel of Cas’ strong fingers around his balls. He knew he couldn’t look back at him, couldn’t break from the girl until the rest of the guys did, but she held little appeal to him at the moment; another thing he couldn’t let on.

            Eventually, the rapture of her ass faded, and the guys looked away from her in favour of making lewd jokes. Dean turned back, his jaw tight as Cas traced curlicues down the inside of his thigh until he dropped his hand off of him all together. Every inch of Dean shook with electricity and he tapped his fingers against the surface of the table. “I’m gonna get another round,” he said. He slipped off of the stool, aware no one heard him, and headed for the bar.

            He stopped two stools down from the blonde and spared her a glance, but not much more. He asked the bartender for another pitcher, gestured towards his table, and slipped him a thirty percent tip so he wouldn’t cut them off. He leaned against the bar, watched as the beer bubbled to the top of the pitcher, and flinched against the bar as bony hips knocked into his own. Cas’ low laugh in his ear, he tried his hardest not to move against the bar. Cas’ body was tight against his, their hips parallel, Cas’ crotch against his ass. Dean chewed on his bottom lip and looked over his shoulder at Cas. “Was I taking too long?” he asked.

            Cas shrugged, his whole body moving with the motion. Dean smiled at him, but Cas didn’t let on at all. He was good at that. At looking like he was just checking up on Dean, just standing behind him, not standing so close his every breath was in Dean’s ear. Every movement of his body sent shockwaves through Dean’s veins. Cas was always in full control, beyond flinching at a touch.

            “I’m going for a smoke,” Cas said. He shifted away from Dean, Dean’s body instantly relaxing, and headed for the guy’s bathroom. Dean watched him walk away, the stiff set of his hips, the hard smack of his shoes against the bar’s dusty floors. His jersey stuck tight to the curves of his back muscles, strained against his broad shoulders.

            The pitcher slammed down on the counter. Dean looked back at the bartender, thanked him, and walked the pitcher back to the table. He set it down in the middle, mumbled something about having to take a piss in case anyone was listening to him, and stepped away from the table. No one in the bar watched him. Everyone had their own things going on and those who glanced his way were simply looking around, same as him. Still he hesitated with his hand on the bathroom door before going in.

            The noise of the bar was muffled in the bathroom. Two guys were at the urinals and another washed his hands at the sink. Dean walked in, kept his head down, and looked for Cas’ shoes beneath the stalls. He caught sight of them, black sneakers against white tile, and cracked open the stall door just enough to slip in. The guy at the sink gave him a look, like he knew Cas was in there, and suddenly Dean’s heart was in his throat.

            Then Cas knocked him back into the door, closing all space between them, and Dean forgot to think. Cas’ blue eyes filled his vision, alight with a smile Dean has only seen when there was no space between them. He breathed slowly, his hot breath running across Dean’s skin. Their noses touched, but not their lips, never their lips. Dean breathed in the scent of him, sweaty from the victory and alcoholic from the bar. He licked his lips, wanted to close the space between them, but kept his distance, stayed in his place. Cas slid the stall’s lock into place.

            “I thought I lost you there,” Cas rasped. Dean shuddered as Cas palmed at him through his jeans. They were separated only by Cas’ rough grip, the width of his hand. Dean’s jeans chafed against his thighs. “Thought maybe the blonde—”

            “No,” Dean whispered.

            “Good.” The smile lit his voice, softening the roughness. The stubble on Cas’ chin rubbed against Dean’s face, hard against his skin. Cass thumb unzipped Dean’s jeans, pressing down the length of the zipper, never releasing the pressure. Dean did his best to breathe as Cas unhooked the button and dipped his warm hand into Dean’s boxers.

            “Fuck,” Dean muttered. He wanted to squirm, but he knew if he did Cas would hold him tighter against the door. Maybe that’s why he did it. Moved his hips just so, so that Cas pressed closer to him, forcing him back against the metal door, the grip on his dick tightening just a little past the point of pleasure. “Easy there,” he gasped.

            “Don’t tell me you’re going soft on me,” Cas whispered. Their foreheads knocked together. Cas’ breath on his lips, an unhealthy buzz between them, the temptation of a kiss, but an inch of no man’s land to cross before it could happen. Cas’ nose rested against his, his smile just far enough down that Dean couldn’t see it even cross-eyed, but he knew it was there.

            Cas stroked his dick slowly, his grip tight then loose then tight again. He let go to stroke his thumb down his shaft, scraping at the soft skin with his nail. Dean’s heart was in his throat, pounding hard, and Cas’ heartbeat was against his chest, steady and desperately fast. His grip tightened, he spread the pre-come along the length of Dean’s dick, and slipped down to the tip. Cas’ fingernails, short stubs blackened with dirt, dug into Dean’s cock and Dean groaned too loudly for the bar bathroom.

            “Quiet,” Cas teased.

            “Then shut me up.”

            Cas froze. His fingers stayed around Dean’s dick, paused in motion, and his eyes met Dean’s. Dean licked his lips, so quick Cas didn’t have time to back away, and the taste of him stung. “You know that isn’t how this works,” Cas said. His fingers spread along the length of Dean’s cock, stroking the shaft absentmindedly. “Handjobs. Nothing else.”

            “Yeah.”

            “Yeah.”

            Dean studied the clear blue of Cas’ eyes, swirling with a thousand emotions he couldn’t read. He placed his hands on Cas’ hips, brought him closer, closed all space between them except the half an inch between their lips. His thumbs slipped under the waistband of Cas’ jeans, tickling the smooth skin at his hips, and then he dipped his hand down into Cas’ boxers. Cas grunted at the pressure of Dean’s hand around his cock, stroking slowly up and down. His eyes dipped from Dean’s, his face going hot with a blush, and then he started to move his own hand again. Up and down, rough skin against Dean’s dick until he was biting his tongue to stop himself from moaning.

            Cas rested his head on Dean’s shoulder to get them closer. Dean could feel his own hand’s movement now, beating against his thigh with every down stroke. Rough kisses pricked at the exposed skin of his neck, working up from the collar of his jersey to the spot just below his chin that stopped his breathing. Cas sucked and nibbled there, the motion of his hand slowing until it all but stopped, resting against Dean’s hard dick. Dean rubbed harder, trying to make Cas moan into his skin. Cas bit him, a sign it was working, and Dean pushed off of the wall of the bathroom stall. He turned Cas into the side wall, dipped his lips to Cas’ neck and moved his hand against the hardness of Cas’ cock. And then came the moan, low and rumbling against Dean’s skin, and Dean forgot to breathe altogether. Not even the constant huff as he tried to keep his hand going stayed as the sound of Cas’ pleasure moved through his body, trembled down his neck, and shot through his spine.

            He came against Cas’ still hand, in sync with Cas. His hand, sticky, came out of Cas’ pants and he steadied himself against the wall of the bathroom stall. Their eyes met again, Dean’s breath suddenly heavy, and Cas out of breath. Blue eyes sparkled in the dim light, no longer teasing or dominant. Cas bit his bottom lip, stretching it back until it went white, his whole jaw grinding with the motion. Dean rested his head down against Cas’, trying to bring their breath into sync, wanting to feel Cas’ heart against his chest again. But his own heartbeat over took it and drowned out all other sound.

            “Dean,” Cas said. Dean nodded. He could feel the burn of Cas’ stubble against his neck. Then Cas’ fingers touched the spot just below his chin, cold and sticky. “I think I left a mark.”

            That should’ve been concerning, a problem, a reason to leave the bar early. Dean closed the space between them with a kiss, soft and gentle. Everything they weren’t with each other. Cas’ lips were still against his until he pulled back, then Cas went up on his tiptoes, bringing the kiss back into his mouth, rolling his tongue against Dean’s. Cas gasped into Dean’s mouth, reminding him suddenly that he needed to breathe, and let go. He banged his head against the side of the bathroom stall.

            “Let’s get out of here,” Dean whispered. He pressed a kiss to the side of Cas’ neck and, a hand on his chin, raised his head off of the stall. He kissed him again, a light peck, and said, “We can’t go out there lookin’ like this.”

            “I could take you home,” Cas said. “Clean you up a bit.”

            Dean nodded and Cas kissed him again.


End file.
